The Things We Never Bother to See
An essay by Chad Schomber
There’s a patch of mold behind the fridge. Has been for a while now. It’s the kind of thing you don’t notice until something smells off, and by then it’s already thriving. We’ve all got a few of those. Not just in the kitchen. In our routines. In our people. In the stale corners of how we live.
Blindspots aren’t always things we avoid. Sometimes they’re just things we never think to check. Like the rubber tip on a walker. Or the hinges on the screen door. Until one falls off or sticks shut, you assume everything’s fine.
Our Brains Hate Surprises
The human brain is a stubborn machine. It doesn’t like re-processing old routes. Once it’s figured out that the gas station’s on the left and the grocery’s a mile past that, it goes on autopilot. Which is fine. Efficient, even. Until one day you realize you’ve driven past the same billboard for eight years and never once noticed the typo.
I used to work in a Woolworth’s store. Middle of town. Lots of dust, too many keys on one ring. We kept a dead register at the far end. Never used it. One morning, while sweeping, I found a customer survey rolled under the counter. Dated four years back. “Smells like mice.” It did.
Nobody fixed it. Nobody saw it. We just adapted.
The House Always Tilts Slightly
Houses settle. You can measure it if you’re patient enough. Place a marble on the floor and see which way it rolls. Thing is, most people don’t bother. They just keep adjusting the picture frames and wedging cardboard under the couch legs.
You adjust enough times and forget the floor was ever crooked. That’s the trick. That’s the blindspot.
It’s not denial. It’s repetition. The smell of dog food in the garage. The rattle in the dryer. The way your neighbor interrupts every story halfway through and nobody tells him to stop. These aren’t secrets. They’re just parts of the landscape.
The Easiest Thing to Miss Is the Obvious
Ever notice how you can’t see your own nose? It’s right there. Front and center. But your brain filters it out. Efficiency again.
Now think about all the traits we carry that sit right in the middle of us. Impatience. Distrust. That habit of making jokes when something’s serious. We call it personality. But sometimes it’s just a pattern that no one challenged.
We build whole lives around habits like that. Keep friends who don’t call back. Stay at jobs that leave us drained. Keep using the same excuses. I’m tired. I’m busy. It’s just how I am.
Maybe.
But maybe it’s just the emotional version of mold behind the fridge.
The Slow Fade of Attention
I had a neighbor once. Lived in the same house since the war. Every spring he’d repaint his mailbox. Glossy black. Did it without fail. Then one year, he didn’t. Nobody asked why.
Two years passed. The paint peeled. The rust bled through. When he died, someone finally repainted it. Same color, same brush. Like it hadn’t skipped a beat. But it had.
We notice absence more than we notice change.
That’s another blindspot. The slow stuff. The fade.
The Funny Way People Disappear
Ever lose track of a person who was once part of your daily life? A coworker. A barista. The guy who used to jog past your house every morning with a limp and a bright red windbreaker.
Gone.
Not dead, maybe. Just... relocated. Shifted out of orbit.
And the strange part? You don’t notice the exact day it happens. One day they’re there. Then, without a bang or a memo, they’re not. You miss them retroactively. Like a song you haven’t heard in years but suddenly hum in the shower.
Our lives are littered with these little vanishings. We call it normal. But it’s not. It’s just unexamined.
The Ghosts in Our Routines
You can predict the moment the porch light flickers. You know which stair squeaks and which drawer catches. You’ve got a whole dance choreographed just to get out the door in the morning.
But do you know what your spouse eats for lunch every day? Could you sketch the pattern of the rug you vacuum twice a week? Ever stop to ask why you keep a hammer in the kitchen drawer?
I found a marble in my sock drawer once. No idea how it got there. Left it. Been three years now. Still there. Still blue.
Sometimes I open the drawer just to check. Not because I need it. Just to see if it’s moved. It never has.
We Don’t Avoid the Truth. We Just Walk Around It
Blindspots aren’t lies. They’re just overlooked.
Like the way people laugh louder when they’re insecure. Or how kids imitate your frustration better than your patience.
Like the fact that most of us have a drawer full of dead batteries and tangled cords we’ll never use again. But we won’t throw them out. Not yet.
Not until we have a reason. Not until something breaks loud enough to get our attention.
In Praise of the Unseen
There’s no grand moral here. Just an observation. That most of what shapes us sits in the corners. Quiet, patient, familiar.
And that noticing it won’t change much. But it might make you look twice at the rust line in the sink. Or remember to ask your neighbor about the tree they trimmed back last week.
Or maybe you’ll finally pull the fridge away from the wall.
See what’s been growing back there all along.